Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  ---

  George still sat on the floor of his cell. A tray with a few remnants of a simple meal lay on the floor near him as he sang to himself a slow, mournful tune.

  The King sat in Dunfirmline town, drinking of red wine

  "Where can I get a bold skipper to sail this boat of mine?"

  Then there spoke a bonny boy, sitting at the King's right knee

  "Sir Patrick Spens is the best man that has ever sailed the sea"

  The King then wrote a broad letter and sealed it with his hand

  Sending word unto Sir Spens to come at his command

  "An enemy then this must be who told the lie concerning me

  For I was never a bold seaman, nor ever intend to be"

  "Last night I saw the new moon clear with the old moon in her hair

  And by that sign, since we were born, all on the sea beware"

  They had not sailed but for a day, a day but barely free

  When loud and harsh blew the cold, cold winds, and loud and harsh, the sea

  Then upon them came a mermaid fair, her face hung in sorrow

  "Goodbye to you, my bonny young men, for the sea shall claim your morrow"

  "Long my lady will abide, with a lantern in her hand

  Before she sees my bonny ship come sailing home to land"

  “Bonny young maid, of the sea, tell me truth and comfort

  Will I find, my lady love, in our final port”

  “Good Sir Spens, I know thee well, I know thee as my brother

  For forty years, your lady's faith, will see you back together”

  Fifteen leagues off Aberdeen, and fifty fathoms deep

  There lies good Sir Patrick Spens, the Scots lords at his feet

  “George!” said Professor Jacobson. George looked up, surprised, and found no one there. “George, up here.” George looked up to a small vent where the ceiling met the wall. “Yes. Right here,” said Jacobson. George got up and walked to the barred door.

  “Professor? How did you get all the way up there?”

  “Stay quiet. The ventilation system runs through some of the tunnels. I can get into it. I figured they would take you here, but I waited for awhile first. Claudette is in here, too.”

  “George, you alright?” asked Claudette from behind Jacobson.

  “Yes. Well enough,” George replied. “You were right.”

  “About what?” asked Jacobson.

  “Not you. Claudette. They asked me if I wanted to leave. I think you're right. Those tunnels are a test.”

  “Told you,” Claudette said.

  “It could also be another trick,” replied Jacobson. “These people don't like violence, but they are master manipulators. And I still think that you are danger... I'm assuming that you declined.”

  “Yes. I did. I can't leave Anna.”

  “Good boy. You could have just ended up dead. Just keep saying yes to whatever they want of you. Hopefully they'll just let you back down into the lab at some point. You may be a prisoner, but at least you can move about.”

  “Yeah.”

  The conversation paused for a moment. “I'm sorry, George,” said Jacobson. “I shouldn't have latched onto you as I did.”

  “I'm also sorry,” said Claudette. “I just let you take the fall in the money room. I didn't know what you were doing. I should have gone out with you. They'd be more loathe to kick out or kill someone who's done a lot of work.”

  “Neither of you have any reason to apologize,” said George sadly. “We are trapped here. I'm trapped here. It doesn't matter where I'm trapped.” George breathed deeply, as though he were holding back crying. “Oh, Professor. You would enjoy talking to the man in the cell next to me.”

  “What man?” asked Jacobson.

  “There's a man in the cell next to me. To your right.”

  “No there isn't.”

  “There most certainly is. Hello? Sir?” George waited for a moment. “Sir?” George paused again. “I don't understand. I was talking to him. He spoke for over an hour about the people here.”

  “Are you sure he was in the cell?” asked Claudette.

  “Well... No. That's where the sound was coming from, but I couldn't see, obviously.”

  “Has anyone else been through?” asked Jacobson.

  “No.”

  “Hmmm,” Jacobson grumbled. “I wonder if we have another wall-dweller. What did the man talk about?”

  “Mostly echoing your sentiment. He said he was too important to be let free, which is why I assumed he was in the cell.”

  Jacobson chuckled. “As if this place couldn't get any more mysterious. Did he say anything else?”

  “He said I was a fool for staying,” replied George.

  “You aren't,” said Jacobson. “You do not know what they would have actually done to you. At least here, you know.” George nodded and sighed.

  “Stay strong, George,” said Claudette. “We should go. While no one misses the Lord High Grump, they will miss me.”

  George nodded. “Yes. Go. Go.”

  “How long do they plan on keeping you here?” asked Claudette.

  “We'll see,” replied George.

  ---

  The amphibious cylinder burbled down the river, leaving a wide, easy wake and a churn of bubbles directly behind it. Cassidy drove while Gideon and Jebediah relaxed in side seats. Periodically, Cassidy would get up and put her hand in the water, triggering the glow that led them ever onward. No one spoke. They were all tired. By now, even the moon had gone to bed, leaving the sky without a steward, making visible the extravagant wonder of the Milky Way. The symphony of the night hung over the Bayou. Galaxies and nebulae danced and swirled. Shooting stars beamed across all the degrees of the heavens. Jebediah got up and stood next to Cassidy, putting his hand on her shoulder. They didn't look at one another. They both looked forward, into the galactic expanse of blues and purples that sat beneath them and hung above them.

  Gideon picked at the various surfaces of the vessel, lazily exploring. He picked at the seat and had it raise up slight before falling back down. He sat up and tried lifting the seat. It was locked down somehow. He felt around under the edge of the seat, his fingers eventually depressing something with a click, allowing him to lift the seat up entirely. He picked up the dim lantern and used it to look inside. He found some canteens.

  By now, Jebediah's curiosity had been raised and he walked over.

  “What did you find?” he asked.

  “Not sure,” replied Gideon. He opened a canteen and sniffed it cautiously, then gave another, bigger sniff. Finally, he gave a taste. “Water,” he said with a smile. “It's water.”

  “What?” asked Cassidy, looking back. “Water?”

  “Yeah,” Gideon said with a chuckle.

  “Give me some of that! I'm completely parched.”

  Gideon handed Cassidy the canteen. “There's more. There are six, seven, eight... eight canteens filled with water in here.” Gideon handed one to Jebediah, who thanked him before drinking. Gideon then opened his own canteen and guzzled half of it.

  Cassidy chuckled.

  “What?” asked Jebediah.

  “I'm now very tired. The only thing keeping me awake was my thirst.” Jebediah nodded sleepily and yawned as he sat down.

  All three of them jumped slightly in surprise at the sound of beeping. “What the hell is that?” asked Gideon.

  “Oh god,” Jebediah said. “I hope that something isn't wrong with this contraption. Just what we need. Lost in the Bayou.” After a few repeated beeps, the sound turned into a complex pattern.

  “Is that Morse?” asked Cassidy.

  “Shhh,” ordered Jebediah. “Quiet.” The beeping continued as Jebediah spoke out what he heard.

  “Operation... complete... losses... minimal... return... by... morning...” The beeping then ceased.

  “That's an impressive toy,” said Cassidy.

  Jebediah stood back, his face almost frightened. “That's far more t
han a toy... So this is how he did it,” he said quietly. Cassidy and Gideon looked at him as he shifted in place, unsure and upset. “That son of a bitch. This is how Harker did it. A telegraph that works without wires.”

  “How does it work?” asked Gideon, leaning in toward the control panel.

  “Does it matter?” asked Jebediah, annoyed. “No. No it doesn't. All that matters is that they tricked us, and now we have one of them. And at least for now, they do not know we have it. The only man who saw us is dead.”

  “You don't think they can track us, do you?” asked Cassidy.

  “I doubt it,” replied Jebediah. “If they could, I don't think they would have sent that message.” Jebediah stood there, fidgeting in place and almost shaking.

  “You alright?” asked Cassidy.

  Jebediah didn't initially respond. He looked like he was holding back vomit. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes... I'm... fine. I'm not fine. Fine isn't the correct word. I am... together. In many ways, I am relieved. I have spent the past weeks under the possibility that Harker's betrayal was something that I could have seen, could have prevented. This machine reveals that I could not have possibly known.” Jebediah held his hands to his face then rubbed his eyes. “The flying machine was amazing. But I could see it working. Whatever the hell that is, is magic to me. They may as well be using magic. No wonder they're everywhere. A message that takes us days to transmit takes them seconds.” Jebediah buried his face in his hands as though he were about to cry. “What are we going to do?... We have this, that's going to be important. We have this. Maybe we can do something with it. But on what principle does it operate? It's goddamned magic.”

  “It's not magic,” said Cassidy, trying to calm down Jebediah. “It's ingenuity, and we have that too.”

  Jebediah held his hands up to his mouth as though he were praying as he thought and breathed deeply, trying to calm down. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

  They all stood there, quiet, again, if even only momentarily, awake and alert. Gideon finally broke the silence. “Maybe there's some food around here,” he said. He started to click open the seats, pulling out a pair of the glowing red goggles that the camp invaders had worn. “Hey!” Gideon said. “Look. It's some of their goggles. The red ones.”

  “Wonderful,” said Jebediah.

  “Don't you remember? The boy back in Houston said that the people who attacked had red, glowing eyes. That's the reason why I wanted to take his goggles as we escaped.”

  Awareness dawned on Jebediah. “Yes... you're right... I remember.” Jebediah was suddenly snapped from his concerned contemplation. “Here, let me see that,” he said. Gideon handed the goggles over. He briefly examined them then put them on. “I can barely see anything through them,” he said.

  “They're not glowing,” Gideon said, getting up to help. “They must not be activated somehow.” Gideon began to examine the hefty strap of the goggle assembly. He felt around, eventually throwing a heavy switch on the back. A brief, high-pitched sound emanated from the goggles as they glowed bright red before dimming.

  “Oh my god,” said Jebediah.

  “What?” asked Gideon.

  “I can see everything. Everything! These allow you to see in the dark!” Jebediah took them off and put them on Gideon.

  “Good god,” said Gideon.

  “What?!” asked Cassidy. “Don't just sit there and say it's amazing, describe it!”

  “I, um... I can't really. Here, just try them,” Gideon said as he put the goggles on Cassidy's head.

  “Wow,” Cassidy said as she looked all around. “Well, these are the greatest thing ever.” The view through the goggles was an array of red dots, thousands of them, that glowed and amplified any light that entered them from the other side. “It's a little... blurry, I guess is the right word.”

  “Yes, but still, seeing something blurry is better than not seeing it at all,” replied Jebediah.

  “Who are these people?” asked Cassidy as she looked around.

  “I don't know,” replied Jebediah, chuckling. “I really don't know.”

  “And also, who were the people back at the camp?! I assumed they were the same people we've been dealing with, but instead we have a third group? How many goddamned people are involved with this?” Cassidy reached around back and flicked the switch, turning the goggles off. She then handed the goggles to Jebediah who was silent.

  “At the very least, our enemy has not changed,” said Jebediah. “The mechanical man, Roger, Caesar, and Houston are all the same people. These poor souls may have been nothing more than a well-funded treasure hunt.”

  “I found food,” said Gideon. Cassidy and Jebediah both turned as Gideon opened bags filled with wrapped food bars.

  “Fantastic,” said Cassidy. “I'm starving.”

  “It looks like... I don't even know.” Gideon said as he sniffed the bars. “Smells like oatmeal.”

  “Of course,” said Cassidy. “Freaks can't have just sandwiches, no. They have to eat nutrient bricks.”

  Gideon took a bite out of one. “It's not bad. It has some nuts in it. It tastes like cold oatmeal with sugar and nuts.”

  “I'd eat anything. Hand me some,” said Cassidy. Gideon gave her a brick and she started to eat. “Why does it feel like we know less after everything we find?” she asked.

  “Because we do,” replied Jebediah, sighing. “We just... we just move forward, and hope that one of the doors in this asylum leads out.” Cassidy nodded sleepily as Jebediah sat back down, across from Gideon.

  “Maybe,” said Cassidy. “But there's a part of me that almost feels as though we're trapped in some absurd adventure novel, and that every door, by design and intent, will drive us farther down the rabbit hole. I feel that the very act of opening doors is precisely what the author wants, and we will find no salvation further on.”

  “It's interesting that you would phrase it like that,” said Jebediah. “Philosophers have spent millennia wrangling with that very question.”

  “Oh great. We're on philosophers again,” grumbled Cassidy.

  “Don't mock it. If one asks why enough, he will eventually find himself at philosophy. It's necessary past a certain point of inquiry. And those questions are quite timely for us. All of the events hitherto seem laid out by some great artificer — coincidences and improbabilities. And does this apply to everyone, and at all times? Is everything predestined? Do we have a choice in the way things go?”

  “And that is the reason why I don't like philosophers. They love to ask questions, but when prodded for answers, they either dodge the question or provide something that itself doesn't make sense. They just love to ask why to sound smart.”

  Jebediah nodded. “I can't argue with that. I think that the smart ones, the truly smart ones, are good at asking why not to provide answers, but to show that the answers we have are insufficient, and that new answers must be found. Are those answers correct? I don't think it matters, as long as the answers help us do things.”

  “That's a remarkably practical statement for a philosopher to make,” said Cassidy.

  Jebediah chuckled wearily. “That's because I am no philosopher. I am a soldier... a politician. We work with what is in front of us. Whether we understand the nature of it... well, that does not matter.”

  “That lack of confidence, though, is unsettling,” interjected Gideon. “Not knowing. We are here because we have to be here? If any of us is going to die, there is nothing we can do about it? That no matter what choice we make, this god will throw something else at us? I don't like that.”

  Jebediah paused in thought. “We do what we must, trapped or not, we cannot tell. That's the important part: we cannot tell. Our life is our life. Our actions, our own. Whether there is destiny or design, whether there is a path that we cannot escape, none of it matters. We go forward, because it's the only thing we can do. We have no choice. The progress is forced upon us. Every passing moment is forced upon us. Every event, even those we think we ha
ve chosen, is forced upon us. Even if we have a choice, the choice is forced upon us. Time itself is an assault against which there is no defense. We are all but actors on a stage — characters in a story — and whatever the great author deigns to give us, is what we have.”

  “It is a cruel author that would separate friends,” said Cassidy. “And a cruel reader who would derive entertainment from it.”

  “God works in mysterious ways,” said Jebediah. “If we are but players on a stage, I have confidence that our trials and tribulations are intended for a greater purpose, even if we cannot discern that purpose.”

  “I can scarcely put to words how distasteful I find that frequently-used argument,” replied Cassidy. “Because it reduces us to mere tools to some end. We do not exist for ourselves. If God exists, I would like to think that he works for my benefit and edification just as all others. What about all those people in El Paso who died? All the people in Houston? You're telling me that those people died to teach us a lesson? What about them? No. No. I will not accept that. I will not accept the implied belief that now is always more important than the past, and that it existed for the present's benefit.”

  “How do you know that this is the present?” asked Jebediah. “Again, this may be us merely living in the past, our destiny simply playing out like a script. If the reader were to jump ahead a few pages, he would know that those events would have always taken place. And it is up there, or perhaps even beyond the bounds of the script entirely, where our purpose lies. Our lives are just as unimportant as those who have already died. They had stories of their own, and our story continues on for a greater reason, or perhaps no reason at all. And if the script ends, it is arbitrary. There is always more that could be written, and the author stops simply because he must stop.”

  “Again, it is a cruel god that uses the suffering of others to serve some other purpose,” replied Cassidy.

  “Perhaps,” said Jebediah. “But if it is all nothing more than a script being played out, then no one is ever suffering. All of those people are still alive, frozen forever in text on a page. None of this has ever happened. All you have to do is turn back a few pages, or stop reading entirely. If anything, it is the ultimate freedom — freedom from the onslaught of time.”